Challenge
by LiteratiGeek
Summary: Clove's heard about him, the furious Cato in the training hall back at District 2, but now she's stuck in his shadow in the Hunger Games and for the first time in her life she's challenged.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first real attempt at writing fanfiction, go easy on me. I didn't really get into this pairing until recently, but I find them sickeningly interesting. Yet, I hadn't found a story that really suited my mental picture of them. So, here's my shot at it.**

The train ride from District 2 to the capitol was shorter than most, less than a couple hours delay was set between names being drawn and stepping off onto the platform to the waiting mass of crowd. There was enough time for a quick midday meal, and apart from that there wasn't much time for anything else; especially not socializing. The tributes were still given their own rooms and both seemed to be taking to them better than their partner tribute.

Career district tributes were not only trained and weaponry from a young age, they were taught how to act in front of a capitol crowd. They knew the proper way to wave, and how to smile without looking overtly threatening. They were killers with manners. Stepping off the train, and being the first tributes to arrive, the crowd was particularly excited to see them. Their names were chanted, but Clove couldn't help noticing one was just a bit more overwhelming than the other.

She should have seen it coming, Cato would be the favorite. Why shouldn't he be? He was the literal golden boy from District 2 golden hair, golden skin, fucking golden smile; he had the entire district in the palm of his hand. They had been waiting for this moment, the year Cato Obsidian finally gets to volunteer and bring glory back to District 2. Clove was simply a stepping stone for him to gain his victory. She had been reaped, she didn't get to volunteer. There were no girl tributes older than her who were worthy to volunteer for her, it had been planned already from weeks of training. Had another girl been reaped than one of the eighteen year old girls could have volunteered, but none of them were above her. The odds had not been in Clove's favor.

Considering the short train ride District 2 tributes are ushered to their living quarters at the Tribute Center to wait before heading to the remake center. They're shown to their suite on the second floor and left to their own devices under the watch of their mentors Brutus and Lyme, and their escort Pumice Flint. Cato doesn't speak a word, he barely even made an effort in the crowded streets of the capitol, he makes his way through the suite to his room and shuts himself inside; they're not allowed to lock their doors, suicide's apparently high right before the games.

Clove retreats to her own room, not for rest but to pace in peace. She had been waiting for this day since she could hold a weapon. Torn between excitement and the inevitable gut dropping dread of the fate she didn't want to accept. She had always pictured herself victor, there was no other title for her. Yet, these were not her games; her mother had made that very clear. "Don't be a hero, Clove. Know your place; know you will be remembered in helping to bring glory back to District 2." She was a stepping stone, she was support for Cato; nothing more. Not a victor. Clove wasn't used to being second best, it wasn't how she raised herself.

It must have been hours, but it couldn't have been, before Clove was being called out of her room. Cato was already sitting on the couch, lounged back with his arm on the back of it and his legs stretched out. Lyme and Brutus were standing in front of the couch, Pumice was making his way from the other side of the room to the couch. By the time she got there, there was no other option left than to sit next to Cato, very aware of his arm still being on the back of the couch.

"It's time to start thinking of a plan. We already know arena strategy, you've known your own way to win since you were twelve." Lyme started looking between the two, "Now we need to figure out the game plan before we actually get you into the games."

"I scare them off." Cato said simply with a smirk, Clove rolled her eyes in response, turning her head just slightly away from him. "What? Aren't I scary?" He asked leaning forward, clamping his teeth together near her ear. She turned, pushing him away with a glare.

"That's enough." Lyme chimed in.

"The Capitol expects a certain level of respect from District 2. Cold as rock, hard as iron. I want you both to remember that. If they see you as the prime victors we'll be able to get you more sponsors. You play to them, not the other tributes. You don't care about the other tributes, you're not here to please them and you let the Capitol know that. You are here for the Capitol, you're their gladiators; not tributes. Tributes are below you." Brutus said in his low tone of speech, Clove wondering of Lyme had him memorize it before they spoke to the two.

"Understood." Cato said simply with a smirk Clove could feel on the back of her neck. She had leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees so she didn't have to think about how close his arm on the back of the couch was.

"Understood." Clove added with a small nod, her hands clenching together. A knife belonged there, she could almost feel it from memory. The beautiful ivory handled one she had back home that her grandfather had made for her.

"You will be the picture perfect tributes. The type they dream about. The type that will be talked about for months after and others will aspire to be." Lyme stated looking between the two of them. "You'll report back here in an hour, we'll be taking you to the remake center. Dismissed."

Cato rises, patting Clove on the shoulder and then making his way back towards his room. Clove's brow creased as she looked up following him until his figure disappeared around the corner. She got up, light footsteps leading her in his trail. He walked into his room, her body slipping in right behind him undetected. "Cato." She snapped.

He jumped, turning around and almost knocking the decorative bowl on his dresser off. "How the hell did you get in here?" He shouted looking back at her.

"The door." She said simply pointing to it.

"Well, what the hell do you want?" He asked, his voice not lowering, and she not backing down. She had seen him in the training center before, the younger trainees cowering from him; very few actually wanted to train with him out of fear they'd frustrate him to the point of explosion. A few years back he broke a kids arm for not putting the weights back on the rack in the right order.

"Don't come near me like that again." Clove shot back, her dark midnight blue eyes struck onto his chestnut brown ones. This raises a chuckle out of the male tribute as he relaxes a bit, eyeing her over as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Didn't like it?" Cato asked raising an eyebrow as he takes a step towards her, "I thought I saw some red behind the ears, sure it didn't get your blood going?" He asked as she took a step back.

"I'm not here for stupid games, and don't believe I won't think twice before killing you." Clove glared, this only bringing a smirk to Cato's lips. He towered over her, the top of her head only coming to his shoulders as she craned her neck back to look up at him, standing her ground this time.

"Stupid games? I thought that was the whole point?" Cato asked keeping his eyes locked down on hers. She drew a deep breath, not one to back down from a challenge, and this was most definitely a challenge.

"We're tributes." Clove stated simply.

"Gladiators." Cato corrected with a cocky smirk down to her.

"Nothing more." Clove replied, causing a brow to rise from Cato.

"I made no inclinations of the sort, I think you're reading too far into this, doll." Cato told her, his face leaning just a bit closer to hers. She could feel his arms moving, the air was shifting around her, becoming tighter. "Or maybe you're just not experienced enough to know better."

"Don't call me that." Clove snapped, ignoring the later part to focus on the more annoying aspect. She hated her size, loathed it. It was good for sneaking around, but in combat it was shit.

"But that's what you are." Cato noted, "Just a tiny little doll for me to play with before I get bored." Cato smirked, a smirk that was quickly washed off by Clove's hand slapping across his face. His head jerked and snapped back, brown eyes piercing her. He reached out, grabbing her forearms and slamming her against the wall behind her.

"Think that was cute?" He asked, nostrils flaring as he glared down at her. She could still see the red raised skin on his cheek from where her hand had made contact. He pushed her harder against the wall, "The next time you try to touch me I'll snap your neck in two." Cato growled down at her. Clove attempted to wiggle her way out of his grip, it was useless. He was twice her size, not to mention the Cato fury was showing bright red in his eyes. If she had a knife on her he'd be gone.

"Let go of me." Clove demanded through gritted teeth, eyes looking up to meet his. He smirked down to her, knowing full well he had her pinned there tight. He didn't let go of her, he simply moved closer. He pressed his body against her, his knee pushing her leg to the side.

"Or what?" He asked, she could feel his breath on her neck. She wouldn't let it show her heart was pounding. She wouldn't let him know her face was darkening red the closer he got. Those picked for training were barely allowed human contact at all, her impressions of it were slim but she knew at that moment there was something going on in her that hadn't before.

"Let go of me, Cato." She hissed again, pushing her arms against his futilely. His hands moved this time; they loosened their grip on her arms, fingers trailing down until they came to rest off of her arms and around her hips. She allowed herself one deep breath; this wasn't a pin she had trained to get out of.

"Or you'll do what?" He asked, she could feel his lips teasingly close to her ear now. She had never experienced this before, this overwhelming feeling in her gut. She wasn't trained for this, and she didn't like this sense of vulnerability. She couldn't think of a reply, her heart was pounding too loud for her to think properly. All she could focus on was the pressure his fingers were applying to her hips, how one had found its way between the blouse she was wearing and the skirt below it. How his finger was calloused from training, rough against the softer skin on the small of her back.

She took another deep breath looking up through the raven haired bangs that had fallen in front of her eyes to look up at him. He seemed hungry, that was the only way she could describe the look he was giving her. What it was for, she didn't know. Being aware of how long she had been standing with her jaw slacked out of confusion her tongue involuntarily ran across her bottom lip, something flashed in his eyes with the movement which in turn only made her heart pound faster.

Clove did not run, she never backed down, she never showed her vulnerable side to an opponent. While this wasn't a game she was versed in, while she wasn't inclined to the rules she didn't need them, she could make her own. She reached down, grabbing his hands and pulling them from her, the grip he had on her caused her skirt to turn as his hands were released. She shoved his chest to push him away and while it did little the sudden movement caught him off guard enough she could slip out from the wall. Light as air she took the few steps to escape out of his room.

Heart pounding she raced around the corner down the hall to the common area where Lyme and Brutus were still discussing on the couch what the interview strategy would be. She didn't even catch their attention as she ran for her own room, the door slamming making the only announcement that she had been out of it in the first place. She stopped only for a moment before walking over to the window and pulling it open letting the cool air from the capitol hit her in the face.

Sweat ran down from her brow, but it felt different. It wasn't earned sweat from a day in the training room, from running longer than the other girl trainees; it was forced from fear. Clove wasn't used to it, the unexpected adrenaline rush from being placed between a rock and a hard place had hit her suddenly. She had never been looked at like that. She had never felt that sense of overwhelming animalistic fear course through her veins. For a moment she was furious, how dare he pull that shit and cause her to feel that. But the moment past and was soon replaced with another emotional entirely different; the old desire she had imbedded in her. He had just offered up a challenge, and Clove did not back down from a challenge.

**Please, review if you can. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't notice until recently that there was actually a small group of people who liked chapter one, so I've decided to attempt chapter two. There's a lot more of the actual Hunger Games story in this chapter, not focused so much on the personal story. Just like all great sequels, never as good as the original. But do let me know what you think! Thanks!**

Careers typically didn't spend very long in the remake center. District two tributes had a bit longer stent than the others simply from the dust built up under their nails, but they were definitely quicker than the other districts. Waxed, cut, scrubbed down and plucked; the general routine of getting that extra shine on them.

Clove had been with her group for a couple hours. They chatted to themselves, every once in a while one would ask Clove something, she'd give the shortest reply possible and go back to staring at the wall across from her. Once the woman with orange hair asked about Cato, mentioning his looks, Clove shot her a glare and she shut up.

The walk to the remake center had been a quiet one. Clove kept to herself. Every so often she'd get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, glancing over her shoulder she'd spot Cato staring back at her. She knew what he wanted, for her to turn her head quickly and get that unwanted blush over her cheeks again; she wouldn't let it. Once she glared back at him until he scoffed and looked away, another time she attempted the one trick she knew caused a reaction out of him and ran her tongue over her lip; this caused an unfamiliar tightening of Cato's jaw and his vision averted. They were separated shortly after that.

"I think you're ready for her." The man with aqua tattoos over his skin told Clove in an annoyingly high-pitched shrill of a capitol accent. She was left alone in the tiny room that she had been locked in since arriving there. The prep team left to get _her_, whoever that was. She glanced around the room while she waited, able to catch a glance of herself in a mirror.

If the dust from the masonry had been caked on her it had to have been there for years because she was just now noticing its absence. She thought she was tanner than this, but she had come out almost pale, her freckles sticking out obnoxiously. Her hair had been left about her shoulders, she never wore it down before, it always got in her face. She looked kind of nice. She was just getting the courage up enough to move when the door opened.

Whoever_ her_ was she was standing in front of Clove now. Much taller than herself with a silver, shiny wig and dressed in what had to be six inch heels to match her brown leather and silver get up the woman seemed to crowd the room, "You must be Clove." She grins, offering the young girl her hand.

She took it out of habit of being told that's what you do, even when you don't want to, "Yes." She says confidently with a nod, giving the woman's hand a shake.

"That's a lovely name," The woman smiles, sitting her bag down on the counter, "I'm Almas, I'll be dressing you for the Tribute parade and the interviews." She explains pulling a sketch book out, "I've talked to your mentors and we've designed something spectacular for the parade and your dress for the interviews it to die for." She goes on, walking back over to show Clove the drawings.

It's exactly what Lyme and Brutus have asked for; they're gladiators. Head to toe armor for the both of them, a crown each to show they're the victors. Clove simply nods, telling the woman she likes it. Tributes get very little say in what they wear and Clove was just thankful they would be completely covered, even if it was just in metal. The woman claps, obviously excited, and tells Clove to follow her so they could get started. The woman doesn't even bother to wait until Clove's pulled her robe on before she opens the door and walks out, leaving the door open behind her.

They end up in a wide room, two screens set up on either side of the room and mirrors covering the opposite two walls. There's a seating area, Lyme and Brutus waiting with the bubbly staff team Clove had met earlier and Pumice, their escort. She was feeling relaxed enough until the door opened again and Cato walked in behind a man half his size with flaming, balding red hair. The man walks over to stand beside Almas, Cato stopping beside Clove; his eyes landing on her almost instantly.

"They made you look like a girl. I like it, it's pretty." He tells her in a low tone with a smirk. Clove keeps her eyes forward, her arms crossing over her chest to pull her robe tighter. Suddenly she didn't like the remake team as much for doing this to her.

"Alright, this way, both of you!" Almas calls walking towards the screens. Once behind them Clove realized it was less out of privacy and more for the surprise factor for Lyme and Brutus. Her robe was pulled off her quickly and a thin sleeveless dressed pulled over her. The skirt was wrapped around her next, the leather belt pulled to the point she had to choke out that she was okay to breath. The chest plate came next, forcing her into perfect posture with her chin raised over the neck piece.

After it was settled that both were ready they were instructed to walk out from behind the screens. Clove looked directly at the closest mirror as she walked to the small raised stage in the middle of the room. She looked almost like a golden bird of prey over a gladiator but she could see the theme. Cato on the other hand looked as though he was meant for the uniform of armor.

They stood on the stage being inspected by the whole lot of the team. The six or so support staff were absolutely gushing with Pumice, Lyme and Brutus were talking to Cato's stylist, Almas was walking around the two like she was dying to find an issue with the outfits. Clove kept her eyes either on the staff or on her own in the mirror, she could feel Cato's eyes on her again throughout the stint on the stage but she ignored it.

"Well, I think you look perfect!" Almas cheered, clapping and turning towards the staff whom quickly followed suit. Lyme clapped slightly, Brutus kept his arms crossed but did give a small head nod of approval. "I believe that settles it, you're going to be everyone's favorites. I bet even District One will love you." She smiles, District One was the one District you had to win favor with, they were the wealthiest and while they typically gave their sponsorship to their own tributes, if you one them over it was a large advantage. "Oh, I almost forgot the finishing pieces." Her smile widens and she walks past the tributes followed by Cato's stylist.

Clove could almost make out what they were doing in the mirror. They were bent over a cart that had been pushed into the room a few minutes ago. She glanced up at Cato who simply turned to give her a wink. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the mirror. A few moments later the two stylists were behind the tributes placing a golden wing headpiece on both.

"I give you the gladiators!" Almas cheers, gripping onto Clove's shoulders as she smiled at the mentors. Brutus' eyes were wide, looking slightly amused, while Lyme gave a forced smile with a head nod. Perhaps that had set them over the top on the obnoxious side, but that's what the capitol wanted. They didn't want just gladiators, they wanted rhinestone incrusted, purple gladiators with sparkle dust. The more obnoxious the better and they were borderline at the moment.

"Oh, I think it's time for the chariots." Cato's stylist speaks up to Almas who gasps and agrees. The two tributes are ushered out surrounded by their team. Clove kept her hands at her side, the metal chest piece making it uncomfortable for her to cross her arms over her chest. Cato's head was up, eyes straight ahead looking through the gap between Lyme and Brutus.

They were lead downstairs to the basement of the remake center that seemed almost like a stable. Chariots lined the walls each being led by a group of four horses each. Other tributes were being led into their chariots. Lyme muttered to the two of them to kept their eyes forward, if anyone was going to be looking around it would be the other tributes to them. Clove was having a hard time of it, but it seemed to come second nature to Cato.

Their horses were dust gray; apparently the stylists took it so far as to match the horses to their districts. "Ladies first." Almas smiled offering Clove a hand to assist her into the chariot. Reluctantly it was taken and Clove stepped up into the chariot, holding onto the bar that ran across the front. Cato jumped up, rocking the structure a bit but getting up without aid seemed to outweigh almost making Clove fall over. She glared over to him for a moment before looking forward again.

It was only a few minutes, a quick pep talk from the stylists to remember to remain stoic, let the citizens know they'll be the ones to give them the show they crave, don't smile too much, but don't scare them. Then, before either could assure they understood, District One was pulling out with their snow white horses to a round of applause from the capitol crowd that awaited on the other side of the gate. There was a pause and then a slight lurch and their chariot was rolling out after them.

For sixteen years Clove had seen this parade; a twenty minute chariot ride to the City Circle where President Snow will give the official opening speech of the games and then they're done. It was like the first day of training day when you're eleven. They line you up and one by one you walk down the row of weapons and take your pick. Will it be the sword, or the knives? Do you take on the spear or pick up the bow? Each one is as polished and shined up as the next, just up to you to pick one.

The bright lights hit her and for a moment blinding her before her eyes adjusted and she was capable of taking in the crowd. They were a sea of colors, but every so often she could pick them apartment from a distinguishing feature; bright red hair here, purple skin there. Her arm raised, her wrists giving small movements, it wasn't exactly a wave but it was a motion of acknowledgement that Almas had suggested they stick to. They weren't supposed to look eager.

Once again, just like with the crowd at the train station there was a leaning towards the male tribute in the cheers. Clove could hear the underlying chant of Cato's name on the lips of the capitol citizens. She hadn't been able to hear if one of the District One tributes had been favored over the other, but the jealousy in the pit of her stomach figured they had been waiting for Cato all along. The three minute wait of just viewing of the luxury district tributes must have been torture for them.

The brushing sensation on her leg started off settle at first, she barely noticed it for a few moments. At first she thought it was the cloth dress under the armor blowing in the breeze so she ignored it. A few moments later she felt it again and chanced looking away from the crowd to look down. While Clove was holding onto the bar of the chariot in front of her with the hand she wasn't waving with Cato had left his free hand between them. The settle sensation she kept feeling was his fingers brushing against her skin under the hem of her skirt behind the barrier of the front chariot; no one would notice.

She didn't know what to do. She had set a standard for herself. She wasn't going to show him a reaction, that's all he wanted. He just wanted to get a rise out of her, see her face turn red and give himself personal satisfaction that he knew a weakness of hers that no one else did. She wasn't going to let it be a weakness, if he wanted to rub her leg let him; it was a pointless act that wasn't going to lead anywhere for him. Yet, the one thing that was standing out about the simple act wasn't just that he was creeping dangerously far up her leg, it was how gentle his touch was.

She had never associated Cato with gentleness. He was fierce and rough. His actions in his bedroom were more characteristic of him, she presumed. While the touching was inappropriate and perverse, she was wondering when he was going to get frustrated and dig his nails into her. The backs of his fingers turned so he was lightly rubbing the pads of his fingertips against her. She was taking deep breathes now, each light touch sending a new sensation through her skin that was threatening to raise goose bumps over her bare legs.

She turned her head away from him, catching him starting to look at her. She raised her arm again, giving a small smirkish smile to the crowd while attempting to ignore the horny buffoon beside her. He seemed to have taken the blatant ignorance as a challenge and the pressure of his fingers against her skin intensified. She bit her lip, but made sure he wasn't able to see her face as she focused on a man with a green afro in the crowd.

His fingers moved from brushing against her outer thigh to the front and were working their way to her inner thigh. She was beginning to wonder when she should give up and stop him because he seemed determined to at least get that, and her heart was starting to pound hard enough she was sure it was echoing under the metal plate. His hand was big enough to almost completely grip her leg as he tightened his hand around it. That was it, the blood was rising to her cheeks and she didn't feel like showing a blush on camera. She turned, her hand letting go of the chariot to grab his when she stopped noticing his expression.

"What the hell is that?" He asked, his eyes looking at one of the larger screens along the trail. His hand had let go of her leg quickly and gripped the bar of the chariot until his knuckles turned white. Clove's brow creased and she turned to follow his gaze. There was a chariot on fire? What do they do when a chariot's on fire? Do they stop the parade short? Clove had never heard of tributes dying before the arena, third degree burns couldn't be completely healed by the cornucopia; they'll be the first ones to die.

"Don't worry about it." Clove muttered looking back at the crowd. All eyes were looking past them now, down towards the idiots who had lit themselves on fire. The disgusting capitol crowd was cheering; Clove should have known they'd get a kick out of two tributes burning alive in front of them. Maybe that was it, they had no hopes so they might as well go out with a bang instead of blowing up in the arena.

"They're not getting hurt." Cato noted, his eyes glancing to the screens as they passed; didn't want to let anyone know he was looking at them.

"What?" Clove asked and glanced at another screen, he was right. They were fine, they were smiling. The girl had grabbed a rose and was smelling it as she blew a kiss to the crowd who was eating it up. "District 12." Clove spoke up, noticing there wasn't a chariot behind them. The two were holding hands for the crowd to see, disgusting. Not to mention weak, kill one and the other will be easier if they care about each other.

"Who the hell do they think they are?" Cato was grumbling as he continued to wave to the crowd left who had yet to notice the fire balls at the end of the train.

"Let them enjoy it, they'll be dead soon." Clove replied, noticing his knuckles loosening up on the bar as he continued to wave to the crowd not looking back at her. She preferred it this way, at least he had stopped touching her.

They pulled into the City Circle around President Snow's mansion after the District One chariot. Clove finally allowed her arm to relax, hands lightly on the bar in front of her as she leaned against it. District Three pulled to a stop beside them and soon the other chariots were following in line. She glanced over to her right to look at District One, the first time she had really gotten a good look at them. They were completely stereotypical; blond hair, blue eyed, and in desperate need of giving their stylists a kick to the crotch. They looked like bedazzled flamingos.

The girl looked over towards her, Clove expected to glare back at her but she was met with a smile. Brow creased Clove watched the girl for a moment before noticing she wasn't looking at her, but past her. She turned to look behind her and noticed Cato giving the girl a smirk of a smile. He had that look in his eyes again, like the one he had looking at her in the bedroom. She cleared her throat and looked up as President Snow began his welcoming speech.

She felt awkward. She wasn't jealous, why the hell should she be jealous that Cato had finally found something else to play with besides her. She was attempting to focus on the speech she had heard sixteen times over with the number of the Hunger Games being the only thing to change, this was a feet considering almost every over minute she would hear an annoying giggle from the chariot next to her and she highly doubted it was the boy with his arms crossed glaring up at the president. She was annoyed.

The speech was over, the anthem played and the chariots filed into the training center. The crew was there to meet them, Brutus looked furious, Lyme looked frustrated, Almas and Cato's stylists looked scared out of their minds and were attempting to hold it together. Pumice spoke up first.

"You both looked fantastic." He told them with a small smile, Clove hopping off the chariot; this time without assistance.

"What the hell was District Twelve doing?" Cato snapped as he stepped down from the chariot, pulling his crown off his head.

"They were on fire." Almas squeaked, covering her mouth. Cato's vision moved throughout the room, finally landing on the chariot furthest away from them. The fire had gone out by now, the two tributes standing in simply black suits. "What the hell does fire have to do with fucking coal." Cato snaps, throwing the crown down on the ground and storming away from the group. His stylist hesitantly walked after him with his small crew of assistance.

"Cato!" Pumice shouts after him, and soon the entire crowd was retreating after him. Clove sighed, pulling her crown off as well, keeping to the back of the crowd.

"You were fantastic, dear." Almas told Clove with a smile, brushing her hand over her shoulder. The touch was different from Cato's, but not like any other touch Clove had received. The woman had insisted on doing it since they met, giving small pats to the young girl. She wasn't used to it, but it wasn't horrible. "Just what we wanted, you couldn't have done more." She assured the girl with a smile.

"Thanks." Clove muttered, glancing over her shoulder as they passed the District One chariot. The girl was throwing a slight hissy fit. The boy, however, relaxed was leaning on the chariot. She met eyes with him for a moment, he didn't break the eye contact, and his expression remained the same as if the display from District Twelve hadn't affected him. He gave a nod and then Clove looked forward again, getting on the lift.


	3. Chapter 3

**Shorter than the others but it's a transition scene before they start training; more intense than the last. Please review with what you think! **

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><p>The group made their way to the elevator, by the time Clove and Almas arrived Cato had simmered down to simply glaring straight ahead. They filed in, Clove pushing her way to the opposite wall of the elevator from Cato with three assistances between them. The button to the second floor was pressed and the doors shut tight to the silence in the small compartment.<p>

"Pumice," Cato snapped, looking over his shoulder to find the man two people away from him. He muttered his apologies as he shuffled his way through the small crowd to stand next to Cato. The two exchanged whispers, Pumice nodding every so often. Clove glanced over out of the corner of her eye, it couldn't be strategy, Cato would have called over Brutus. Her brow creased in confusion, but considering they were on the second floor the doors opened quickly and they began to file out into the suit before she even think of trying to hear what they were talking about.

"We leave for the training room at nine-thirty, breakfast is at eight, you're responsible for yourselves." Brutus called out simply, not bothering to stop his march through the living room towards his own sleeping quarters. Clove glanced over to Cato and then simply turned, walking back to her room.

She showered in peace, allowing the hot water to roll over her and fill the room with steam. She loved showers, always had. Back in District 2 in those small moments where training would get the best of her she longed to return home to the shower she knew was waiting for her. It was the time to clean her head to really think, however it was more of a burden now to do so; it allowed her mind to wonder too much.

Not spending as long as she had planned in the shower she left it to change into the pajamas provided by the capitol; pleased they weren't forcing her into a nightgown. She pulled on the loose fitting pants and shirt that matched them after drying her hair to a satisfactory dampness and brushing it out. She paced the width of her room for a few minutes before getting the courage to venture out into the second floor suite.

It was empty, everyone must have gone off to their own rooms to think over the day and plan for the day ahead. Clove's light footsteps were louder than she would have liked, her bare feet sticking to the stone floors, the sound echoing throughout the empty open room. She glanced around her surroundings before heading towards the kitchen area on the opposite side of the suite, until she heard a door opening causing her to stop dead in her tracks. She backed up, having been exposed in the opening of the second hallway, and then leaned forward to peer around the corner.

Cato's door was opened; she could see his hand holding it and the murmur of his voice speaking in a low tone to someone. Her brow creased as she inched forward, attempting to see who was with him. It was a long few minutes for Clove as she waited, but soon it was revealed that Cato was with a woman. She had pale pink skin and white-blond hair that was currently in flattened curls about her shoulders. She had wide hips and curves where Clove had bumps and striking green eyes that were locked in on Cato. The woman smiled a pearly-white grin to him, reaching up to run her fingers along his cheek as she took a step back towards the door.

Clove was waiting for it; waiting for Cato to slap the woman's hand away at such an intimate touch, but it never came. She had no idea who this woman was, but she wasn't childish enough to question why she had been in Cato's room. It must have been what he was discussing with Pumice earlier. It was a ridiculous notion to Clove, how that could be so high on Cato's priorities at the moment. Why he would sink so low as to have Pumice round out a woman for him, hadn't he been making eyes at that District One girl, why not call her?

Not as if that would have been any better. The girl was just as ugly as the capitol woman leaving the tribute's suite. Not to mention she would probably just be using Cato, attempting to get an advantage in the games. Although, Cato would be doing the same thing, they would just be using each other. Clove's jaw clenched and she took a deep breath as she chanced to bridge the gap from her wall to the next while attempting to appear as if she hadn't noticed the earlier exchange.

"What's the matter, Doll, can't sleep?" She heard from down the hall before her left foot could disappear behind the wall. She took a deep breath, a moment's internal debate between ignoring him or humoring him took place before she proceeded to continue towards the kitchen. While her footsteps were light with a soft echo following them, Cato's were obnoxiously loud as he made his way down the hall. "I asked you a question." He added, stopping at the end of the hall, his body facing her as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Clove sighed and turned around, the reply on the tip of the tongue lost as she caught a look of him. Cato was not wearing the Capitol supplied pajamas; rather he was simply dressed in the boxer shorts that were issued to the males. His hair was tasseled from Snow knows what activities he was doing in the bedroom with the capitol woman, and his eyes were staring her down with that unhealthy, animalistic stare she was beginning to fear more. With her expression noted Cato took advantage of the pause to close the gap between them, his towering frame leaning to look down at her.

"Did you see my friend?" Cato asked in a low tone, eyebrow rising as he questioned her.

"Yes." Clove replied simply, not giving him the satisfaction of flinching away.

"Could have been you." Cato told her in the same tone, as if someone was attempting to listen to their conversation. One arm uncrossed from his chest, his hand lowering down to lightly run the back of his fingers down her arm. Clove reacted quickly, her hand reaching down to snatch his wrist under her fingers.

"Don't touch me again. It's not what I'm here for." Clove hissed, fingers holding a sturdy grip around his wrist. With a quick jerk he freed himself, brow pulling together as he glared down at her.

"You are here to die." Cato replied pointedly, "The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be." He added, his gaze not breaking from hers. Clove took a deep breath, her eyes not moving from his. Her heart was beating faster; adrenaline from being in control for a few fleeting moments had left her now. She eyes scanned over his features for a quick moment before finding his eyes again. He looked like a bird of prey with its eyes on a weak, injured rodent. Inevitably was in his eyes, she could see it. There was no way he was going to lose this challenge.

"I'll see you in the morning, Cato." Clove said softly, taking a step back to leave. His hands reacted quicker than she could. His arms were wrapped around her, bringing her body crashing into his. She gasped, hands reaching up to push against his chest. "Cato, let me go!" She snapped, hands balling into fist to pound into his chest.

"You need to realize your place. It's beneath me, get used to it." Cato snapped, moving to grab her wrists, his voice was a little breathless; Clove didn't hit like a girl, she made sure it hurt. "Whose name is it they cheer? Mine. Who does District 2 want to win? Me. You're nothing but a stepping stone for me, so you might as well give me a bit a pleasure while we're here and not on camera." Cato smirked.

Clove stared back up at him, her eyes not leaving his. Her body shook, her heart was racing, her pulse pounding. She felt like she was going to become light headed. She took a deep breath, her jaw clenching as she braced herself for a moment; the words were on the tip of her tongue. Her lips parted to speak, but something caught in her throat, stopping her. Cato raised an eyebrow, noticing the motion.

"I'm not worth it, Cato." Clove spoke softly, causing something to change in Cato's expression. His brow creased, eyes now searching hers for a wordless explanation.

"What?" He snapped, obviously having not been able to come up with something on his own.

"I'm not worth this; I'm not worth you being distracted from the games. I'm not worth the chase. Just stop, you only want me because I won't let you. And if I would, you'd realize it wasn't worth it in the end and a waste of your time." Clove spoke simply, keeping her eyes locked on Cato's.

His jaw tightened, staring down at her for a moment. He didn't speak a word, he let go of her with a bit of a push and then turned. His heavy footsteps echoed down the hall until a door slammed shut and they stopped. Clove let out the deep breath she had been holding, shutting her eyes for a moment. She gave a nod, looking around the room again before simply walking back to her own room.


End file.
